


Golden Maw; Silver Strand

by desertvvitch



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beached Things (Death Stranding), Canon-Typical Violence, DOOMS (Death Stranding), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Higgs Monaghan Being Higgs Monaghan, Homo Demens (Death Stranding), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Redemption, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Game(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Egyptian Religion & Lore, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Timefall (Death Stranding), Torture, Trauma, Universe Alteration, lore heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28380090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desertvvitch/pseuds/desertvvitch
Summary: "EE or notshe is still human." A chuckle permeates through the air ―raspy; sardonic; sarcastic― and all she can seem to do is scowl at the man before her as he gives her a rather somber look."She stopped bein'humanthe moment she took up that job, darlin'." He leans over the table; eyes boring into her own, "I'm sureyouof all people know what that's like."
Relationships: Higgs Monaghan/Original Female Character(s), Higgs Monaghan/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	1. ❝ Ｒ Ｅ Ｎ Ｅ Ｇ Ａ Ｄ Ｅ ❞

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally had something up before with the same name ― didn't like the way I was trying to come out with it ― so I deleted it and redid it the best I could.

Her mothers teachings have always stuck to her ears ever since she was a child. They rage against her skull in times of worry; of discomfort or distress, her strong voice with the thick accent echoing around the bone as she attempts to create an instant solution for a life long problem. 

_“We Kardeshev’s are powerful women ― catalysts in a world where action and reaction gets you killed.”_

Freya wasn’t sure what it meant to be a catalyst or powerful; she wasn’t a Kardeshev by blood ― only by a bond that was woven tight with a strand laced in blood and glory. 

The snow seemed icier than she remembered ― maybe that was just the atmosphere that he radiated, next to the unbearable warmth that laced his fever. How long had it been since she’s seen him; a year? Or was it two? Time was a blur for her ― a never ending constant of white and chill as her body finds a will of its own. 

Knee’s knelt down in the soft powder, she finds a faint puff of air permeate from his chapped lips. He’s just as tall ― and lanky ― as she remembers but dragging him to home _now_ would be more of a challenge than traversing the wilds in a soon to be white out.

“ _Oh,_ what am I going to do with you, _Horus…_ ”

She has no time to catch the name that slips her lips ― he hasn’t gone by that name since he was a simple porter. A dead name; a name that was laid to rest right next to her mothers. Her body hisses at the impact of memories; her mind an endless beast of regrets and torment as she checks his neck for a pulse ― an unbreakable habit she can’t bring herself to change.

Faint but there; he was always quite the trooper, despite how dumb he could be.

She was sure that this wasn’t one of his finer moments, either. 

“By God, you are going to be _the death of me_.”

She still carried him up the mountain, through the snow, and home.

.-.-.

Higgs has never been a fan of the ocean. 

Living inland never allowed him to witness the true ocean and with his DOOMS ― and those nightmares ― he never felt at ease at the idea of walking the coast. Amelie’s beach always had the beached whales, and rotting dolphins and gray waves that grow frothy with each crash. 

He lays in the graying gravel of the beach ― _this fucking beach_ ― sharp pepples dig into the skin of his back and shoulders. His body is starting to grow numb from the cold and he can’t help but look up at the grey sky filled with chiral clouds.

He had donned a mask – a golden maw filled with unruly power and divine righteousness – he met new people; he rose up in the world; he soared with a power in his veins. He tore things to the ground; he hurt people – he _killed_ as well – and it was all limitless. He was a god – the only things that could upon the end of it all.

Then – like all those years ago – he had nothing.

Nothing but himself and his rotten self―loathing and _the angel of death_ looking down at him with a disappointment that reminded him so much of his daddy’s.

_Pathetic_ . _Worthless_ . _Monster_.

“You don’t belong here.”

He looks up from his spot; achy knees and the heels of his palms dig into gravel and sand as he sits up. Red heels press softly into the ground, her signature red dress stainless and pristine despite the _bullshit_ he pulled ― even if it was in her name. 

Her hands laced in front of her, a soft hum resonating from her chest as she faced the ocean. The waves crash and lap at her feet but she stops right at the precipice before she turns to face him. 

“This isn’t the end.” her voice is soft ― barely above a whisper ― but she could only smile and look over Higgs with the same look she gave him when she sighed her proposition into his ear all those months ago. “This also isn’t the beginning.”

Amelie was always rather cryptic. Her words were heavily calculated, each syllable thought out and every letter arranged and rearranged before the press past her tongue. He fell for it ― many times ― but with his defeat laced with blood and bruises he can't bring himself to continue to listen to her soft voice. 

"The world will still end ― it's just a matter of _when_."

"I'm done playing your _game_." 

"You were so willing before." if he had the energy ― an inkling of anger within his veins ― he would have snapped his jaw at the hand that feeds. 

She only ever gave him scraps anyways. 

"The end will come, Higgs. _And you still have a part to play_." 

There was no warning as he fell through the black sands, the water colder than it was back on the beach.

He doesn’t remember the ocean being this bitter; a piercing, tingling pain that bites at his numbing fingers and toes.

He was a god; _the particle that permeates all existence_ , and yet here he was. Goosebumps travel over his thighs and forearms as he lets his body float between the seam. The foreboding, chilling blue leaving to wonder if this is what the afterlife has in store for him.

If time traveled faster on the beach, The Seam held time at a stand still. That sharp, out of body experience left him demanding oxygen to fill his lungs. Numb fingers and the rush of blood were the only thing that grounded him as he looked through the endless blue purgatory. Bubbles permeated from his body as his soul dragged itself towards his body. 

When he wakes, he finds himself sore; a wild ache piercing his bone is enough to cause him to hiss but he notices the warmth of a blanket over his body alongside the comfort of a pillow under his head and a mattress that supports his body. It’s an odd thing, really ― to remember one thing and then wake up somewhere else ― but the only time he has to complain and worry about the situation he’s gotten himself into is then and there and once he tries to move, he notices that he can’t seem to bring himself to worry anymore about the situation. 

Stitches pull taut at his side ― another reminder of his testament of ironic life ― as his joints crack and ache with each shift of his body. The room he’s in is quiet, minus the hum of a portable heater that sat against the wall. _Old school_ , he thinks, pre Death Stranding but he’s not entirely sure of himself right now. 

The patter of… _something_ in the hallway catches his attention. The clicking of nails along the concrete floor; a rhythmic process that leaves him squinting towards the door with a waiting hope it’s not anything that’s gonna eat him alive. 

But then again, if something _did_ eat him alive, he’d be saved from the trouble of almost dying in a white out. 

There's a scratching at the wooden door, then a whine, then a woman ― _a woman?_

She calls for the thing, her voice strong yet kind as the nails click away before he’s left in utter silence once more. Her voice brings on violent memories ― one’s he thought were repressed so deep that he could never find them again ― but all he can manage to see is her. 

Blue eyes, long curls that swept along the planes of her back, skilled words trained to evaluate and analyse anything with a brain and a pulse, a pale scar along the side of her neck ― a symbol of pain and survival mixed into a physical memory. 

He remembers the way her smile sways in his memories ― unwanted and unwelcome ― but he can also remember the way her smile wavers into a tearful snarl at his own admonition of torture. 

Higgs’ had to say; it was never meant to be her, but somethings just turn out the way they do and there's nothing anyone can change about it.

_“That shot’s down range,”_ her words echoed in his head, thickly coated in her Irish accent and laced up in a pretty smile. _“Not much you can do other than reposition and try again.”_

There’s that scratching at the door again, filled with more whining and the woman’s calls, _“Dammit_ , dog… _No_ , Fermi. C’mon…” 

A dog? In times like these, where Timefall would ravage the earth and all of it’s living things? How does one have a dog with the world in the state that it's in?

He has to snort at that one ― a sardonic response to his internal thoughts, because he sort of caused some of its problems, some of which he barely understood. 

The room falls into a state of silence then; no more interruptions from a dog or from the woman he’s thought of as dead because it was simply easier that way. A chill sweeps through him, one that leaves him gasping without a chance to catch it. He can’t catch it in his throat, and it leaves him breathless at the discomfort his body feels as he tries to contemplate his next move. 

Higgs knows he can’t stay here ― what would he possibly have to gain from staying? 

_Her_ , but he shakes that thought away as fast as it pops up. 

His stomach churns then as he remembers the word _repatriation_ , leaving him with a split second to find the trash can in the corner. He almost misses as his body revolts on him ― the hard coded panic that comes with being repatriated. 

Tar comes from his stomach; a black ooze that sticks to the back of his teeth and his tongue. Phlegm coated black leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as he dry heaves into the can next to the portable heater, but he can’t stop the way his stomach riots and tumbles into uncontrollable spasms or the way his gasps and whines from the discomfort it causes him. 

A hand is pressed against his back, and he flinches ― he fucking _flinches_ ― at the contact but he see’s her. Wild glory and soft hands seem to keep him grounded as his muscle’s calm with each smooth circle of her hand along his back. Her knees are bumped against his calves as he leans away from her, gasps still sounding as he tries to catch his breath. He still feels nauseated as his stomach churns and bubbles but he can’t seem to tell if it's from his anxiety or something else. 

Her hand is still on him ― her thump tracing light circles along the muscle of his bicep ― and he can’t figure out if his body wants to lean into the touch or away from it. 

So far the first one is winning. 

“Good to see you’re still alive. I’d hate to have to drag you to the incinerator.” he chuckles then, deep within his belly but it leaves him wincing from the spasms of his muscle.

“Why, because you can’t ruin my face?”

“No, because you’re heavy and I don't want to waste my resources trying to dispose of you properly.”

Cynical as ever. 

“Let’s at least get you back to bed.” she goes to help him stand, but he swats at her hand a little too hard. The resounding slap leaves him worried that he hurt her ― _like he hasn’t before_ ― but she pays little to no mind at his harshness as she pulls him to his feet. His legs wobble, and his mind grows hazy but he can’t help but follow her as she holds him in place as they take six steps towards the mattress he’s taking over.

“You rest, I’ll wake you when food’s ready.”

She doesn’t wait for him to respond as she leaves the room, the door closing with a soft click.

.-.-.

He doesn’t remember too much about his beach ― mostly because he loathes it ― but he does remember the woman who stood at the forest's edge. 

Beads threaded into her hair, small braids pinned back the shorter strands that framed her face and soft curls cascaded over her shoulders. The crescendo of waves causes her to flinch ― he can see the way her shoulders tense with each ebb and flow.

She looks as she did the day she left him; soft blue eyes that remind him of ice that pierce the skin with thick hair that was cared for and braided with pride and the soft skin of her flushed cheeks that held dusted freckles, but… something is different about her; he just can't pinpoint it yet. 

Sequoias stand tall behind her as the ocean breeze pushes past their leaves; through her hair. Her name is hanging on his tongue, but it's sticking to his teeth as he walks towards her. He finds himself reaching out; desperate for that familiarity of her under his palm.

Bare feet push through sand, but he starts to feel himself sinking with each stride he makes. Fingers claw through the sand, small pebbles getting stuck under his blunt nails. He’s getting closer; his hands can almost feel the warmth radiating off of her bare skin. 

Something drips from her lips, and he only figures out that it's tar by the stench. It oozes from her nose first, staining her skin and dripping from her chin. It bubbles from her throat and pours through her teeth, lips and tongue dripping black. 

He’s three feet away from her, the sand below him has dragged him chest deep already. Fingers sink into the gravel and sand; sharp pebbles cutting his palms. 

Panic consumes him; the tightness in his chest is suffocating as he watches her drop to her knees, strands of hair sticking to her forehead and thick streaks of black drip down her cheeks. 

Her name sticks to the roof of his mouth, an indignant sound rumbles through his throat before he tries to plead with _whoever_ to let him go. Rocks dig into skin, tar continues to bubble from past her lips but it soaks the sand and coats his arms red. 

Tears of frustration soak his cheeks as he continues to try and keep his head above the sand, and the only thing he could gasp as he starts to choke was her name.

He remembers, _he remembers,_ **_he remembers!_ **

_“Freya!”_

Then, he wakes. A soft exhale through his nose as he finds himself laying in bed with soft cotton tugging at dried scabs and stitches ― that name nothing but a whisper in the sands that swallowed him whole. His hands are white knuckling the dark duvet that covered him; sweat sticks and trails down his temple and into his hair. 

His chest burns and he finds it hard to keep his breath quiet and steady under the weight of anxiety. The smell of ozone, fresh moss and the scent of snow catches his attention first. It's a subtle thing ― a bit like watermelon and iron ― but what wakes him up is the scent of a dog. 

A cold nose nuzzles him ― as if on cue ― and a soft sigh from the right of him has him craning his neck to see if his suspicions are correct. And ― in an essence ― he was. 

The dog laid nuzzled into his side, its muzzle resting comfortably on his hip. The dark brindle coat catches his eyes before he even registers the way his hand twitches in his fur before it’s pulled away with a harsh snap of his arm. The dog perks up at that; ears pointed forwards and eyes wide that bored heavily into his own. The boldness of the dog's eyes barely blinked at Higgs as he started to scratch at the collar around his neck. A thick metal tag shimmered a soft bit under the lights above him; the dog's name engraved into the round tag covered in dents and bends.

Fingers press against his fur before he pulls at the tag softly to read the name. _‘Fermi’_ ― like the paradox that talks about the lack of alien life within our universe, but who can blame them for avoiding a hell hole like earth. 

Higgs can’t help but dig his fingers into the fur that crowns his neck; blunt nails dig into the skin until Fermi starts to tilt his head. It then ― he notices ― the thick scarring at the back of his neck, in between his shoulder blades. It splays under his fur ― chunks of hair missing in certain parts ― before it stops right at the bulk of his spine. Something in his mind sparks at the course hairs that stand over the ridges of Fermi’s spine; the undercoat a stark contrast with how soft the hairs were. 

_“One of my clients gave him to me ―,”_

Memories tend to blur together ― bright eyes and soft skin sound incomprehensible in the state that he’s in ― but there's a point in time that he can place that reminds him of the dog that sits in front of him.

He can hear voices as he sits up, soft and breathless as it filters past the crack of the door. The clicking of boots scuffing along the concrete flooring and the passive aggressive sighs show that the conversation is rather strained.

“What am I supposed to do with him? Throw him to the wolves?” She seethes out, her frantic pacing giving off her distress and uncertainty.

“You know my opinion of him.” Freya scoffs at the response ― it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“ _Sam ―_ ,” 

Freya couldn’t help but huff and cross her arms. The call with Sam held indignation that only seemed to match her own. They’ve been talking about it for an hour and she still has no direction of which to take. 

“You do what you gotta do.”

“ _Oh, thanks._ That’s so incredibly helpful _._ ” Her tongue drips with sarcasm and snark as Sam tries to hide a small smirk. 

“You asked.” 

She _did_ ask, but she was hoping he’d be more help than this. 

“Can’t you just… Give some solid input, _please_ .” she hears him softly chuckle before he grunts over the sound of crumbling rock. “ _Wait_. Where are you right now?” There’s another groan, something that pulls deep from Sam’s gut under the rustle of his timefall suit.

“I’m 20 kliks from Lake Knot.” There’s a rumble of rocks through the speaker of the call, and Freya can’t help but chew on her thumb as she listens to the man climb around like some pack mule.

“Why exactly are you going back to Lake Knot?”

“They called me back to Capital Knot.” 

_Of course they did._ She couldn’t help the frustrated groan that ripped through her throat; though it was involuntary and harsh, Freya picked up her pacing once more as she held the device in her hand. 

“Tell me how it goes ― with the UCA, I mean.” her voice is softer than normal ― worry laced between teeth and tongue as her thumb hovers over the red button. Sam could only grunt in response; the distant sound of sharp timefall and BTs filling the area. The line cuts before she can even hang up on him and she’s left throwing the device onto the kitchen counter.

There’s an air of tension that flitters through the area of her home. She knows that Fermi made his way into the room ― _his_ room ― but even she doesn’t have that exact courage to show her face to him. The semblance of normalcy she once had with the man that laid immobile in her spare room was now gone; filled with something that was bitter in taste and heavy in feel. There wasn’t anything she could say or do that would change who he is now and she would have to accept that.

Her hand tugs at her braid; adjusting and readjusting the bead that was held between strands as she took tentative steps down the hallway and towards the door. The mountain that her home was built in kept her place warm with the natural insulation that resonated through the earth. The natural rumble of the earth sounded through the halls as she continued to make her way down until she stood in front of the spare room where Higgs rested. Her soul was heavy from the pull of gravity; her fingers numb like she dug her hands into ice and snow but she still managed to place her hand on the knob and push the door open.

As the door opens wider, she finds that he’s not in the bed but wobbling around like a newborn fawn by the tall shelves filled with old texts and fairytales that her mother would read to her. _The Brothers Grimm_ , _Alice in Wonderland,_ old texts that were written strictly in Norwegian that she could never read ― her mother never got around to teaching her.

“You should be resting.” there's a jump in his shoulders; muscles pulled taut at his spine but he never turns to face her. His legs continue to wobble, but he’s at a standstill. Freya could tell that his legs were taking the brunt of his recovery. 

She waits for a snide remark ― something that would cause a banter that would make it easier for her to decide what to do with him ― but all she was getting from him was a tense body and soft sighs. His head ducks down to avoid any eye contact with her, but she can see the soft furrow in his brow and the slight crease of a frown as he throws himself back into the bed like a child. He’s dramatic in his movements as he slings the thick comforter over his head and huffs. 

She wants to say more ― tell him that if he’s hungry, she’ll feed him ― but he’s moody and most likely not in the mood to talk or banter or argue, so she leaves the room with the door ajar and the lights off. 

There’s something about being close to him again like this; the sleepless nights spent watching timefall coat and age the earth, chiral thunder crashing into the ground with a thick echo that resounds between the hills. The shared bottle of champagne and itchy wool blanket under the shelter of her mothers bunker terminal. 

He went by a different name then, though she’s sure she’ll never be able to call him that once time continues to flow. 

She thinks of her mother; Maeve ― _The Plant Geneticist_ ― and the way she taught nothing but kindness even when she always knew Freya was built on nothing but ridged bone and sharpened teeth. But even through all the lessons of love and kindness; Maeve always managed to teach her that she could bare her teeth with a smile ― because snarling teeth was still a threat as long as you never showed your belly.

It’s not until the rise of night when he makes his presence known. Tentative steps leave soft sounds against the concrete floor as he makes his way through the hallway. She can tell he’s trying to be quiet ― mouse-like steps along a cold floor to keep from being noticed ― but he can hear the patter of the balls of his feet pressed to the ground. 

But Freya stays relaxed in her chair that sits in front of the room corner; books stacked in intricate style up until it's stuffed tight against the ceiling of the bunker. The wind howls outside the bunker and against the unusual vents that allows the stale air to circulate, but she doesn’t pay much attention to anything other than the sound of Higgs slowly opening cabinets with jars filled with dried fruits and cans of non―perishables. There's a scuffle of cans and jars scraping along the shelf of the cabinet before he settles on something and slowly closes the cabinet that latches shut with a soft click. 

He pulls the can tab; his eyes boring into the back of her head when the lid resounds with a loud pop, but she only moves when he opens drawer after drawer trying to find a utensil to use.

“Last drawer, on the left.” he turns to stare at her for a split second ― can gripped tightly in his hand ― before he reaches for the drawer she told him. A spoon gets pulled before he takes tentative steps towards her nook; his back pressed against the corner of the wall and the bookcase.

He picks at his food ― she notices ― but only for a split second before Freya watches as he shovels spoonfuls of cold chili into his mouth. 

“You never used to eat chili before.” she muses on with the softest curl of her lip as his nose scrunches softly from the texture of his canned meal. It’s interesting to watch the way he shoves food into his mouth before he finishes the bite from before ― acting as if he’s eating his final meal until his time ends. Sharp canines chew through softish food, and his nose scrunches still at the taste but she catches him scraping his spoon over the edges for every last bit.

“Things change.” his words are sharper than his teeth but he still finds himself clambering awkwardly to stalk back into her kitchen. “I changed.” he’s _climbing_ her counters now, digging his way until he pulls another can from behind other boxed goods. “ _I’m hungry_.”

So, she watches from the sidelines as he scarfs down two more cans of cold chili; spoon scraping the sides for every last bit before he finds himself mumbling a form of goodnight and dragging his feet back to the spare room. Freya suspects that Fermi is still laying on his bed; soaking up the warmth from the thick, feather down comforter so he wouldn’t have to leach it from one of the humans. 

His door closes with a soft click, and Freya finds herself left in place with that weird tinge of wondering confusion. He talked about change; from the things around him to himself and she wonders exactly _what_ it could have been that changed in him _other than the name he had before he took ‘Higgs’._

Soon, she finds herself in bed ― dreaming. The whispers of ocean winds; the cries of crashing waves; the low rumble the reverberates from below the dark sands. The beach ― with its white waters and its black sand ― was always something she despised. The cold ocean breeze always went through her instead of around her, the water bit and gnawed at her skin with every crash at her ankles, the dead sea life that sat attached to the water by black inky wires. She grows tired of the symbolism, and grows panicked by the salt that permeates and sticks to the hairs in her nose.

Lungs collapse, her body aches, she’s sure her knees won’t be able to hold much more of her weight the longer she stands where she is. But the five inky figures are calling to her ― a message filled with cryptic tones and signed in blood ― as she can’t help but try to quell the bubbling panic that settles between her diaphragm. 

Water levels rise, and she finds herself drowning now ― panic no longer at the back of her mind, but now a singular threat to her survival. Water rushes with bubbles as she thrashes along the deep blue water; air escapes her lungs only to be filled with the bitter saltiness of the ocean. She claws; screams; latches to whatever she can around her before she hears a voice. Soft; melodic; alluring. 

What wakes her is the push from the water to her bed. 

What jolts her is the sound of Higgs’ body revolting against his mind and matter in the bathroom by her room. 

As she makes her way to go help him, she can’t help but think back on what the voice told her ― _over and over and over and ―_

_“I’ll see you on the beach.”_


	2. ❝ Ｗ Ｉ Ｔ Ｈ Ｄ Ｒ Ａ Ｗ Ａ Ｌ Ｓ ❞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not uber confident on this chapter, but it has a lot of info that will be referenced and needed for later use so _here you go._

Chiraliam Contamination. 

The explanation of them was mostly something that went in one ear and right out the other for Higgs but that was the general idea of what he had, and he had so much of it that Freya wasn’t sure if he was going to make a full recovery from it. Manic episodes led to  _ a lot _ of sleepless nights, and nightmares that brought on panic attacks. 

“I’ll be fine, what’s the worst that could happen?” Higgs waves his hand around, his flippant attitude leaving Freya unsure if she would even leave him. He’s pale in color, cold sweats still wracked his body, but she can barely see his face with the way he has the blanket thrown over his head like a child scared of thunder.

“You could  _ die, _ Higgs.”

“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” Her groan of annoyance was enough for him to snicker at her indignation.

Freya had been adamant on the idea of Higgs keeping tabs on himself while she was gone ― she kept her trip vague but he knew she was headed over to help Sam  _ fucking _ Bridges get away from the UCA. She nagged him about it; _ keep tabs on your body _ ,  _ understand your symptoms _ ,  _ call me if anything happens _ .

“I promise, I won’t be gone long but if anything happens you call me.” 

Higgs could barely give her an answer as he and Fermi watched her blend and disappear into the whiteout that hid the bunker. 

It was kind of fucked up for these withdrawals to hit him the way that they did. The sudden force of nausea kept him from keeping anything down, but he didn’t think much of it until the cramps hit, or when the vertigo hit him like a bullet to the skull. Shivers wracked his body, cold sweats soaked through his clothes and bed sheets, teeth clicked through the shivers as he dragged himself to sit under the spray of hot water. His skin was itchy and red after the hot water turned cold, a rash along the inside of his forearms leaving him with red marks along pale skin. 

He barely hears the sound of the thrumming storm or her boots rushing along the concrete floor as he lays down in a curled ball by the portable heater in his room.

“ _ Why didn’t you call me? _ ” Her voice is shrill with worry and her eyes could only hold a grave look as she placed cold hands along his hot body. 

She was gone for six days ― s _ ix fucking days _ ― before Freya came home only to find him in his bed with a fever. He was talking to himself; he knew he was when she asked him who he was talking to with a heavy concern lacing her tongue. The delirium hit him slowly, but the paranoia that came in held up by the hallucinations that accompanied it tore him to the ground in gasping sobs. 

He wanted relief ―  _ needed it _ ― but Freya only had so much to alleviate his pain. 

“ _ Fuck _ ― make it stop!” he weeps but she can’t say anything to him that would keep him calm, so she holds him. His back to her chest as she holds his arms to his chest, her cheek pressed to the crest of his skull as she hums some incoherent tune in hopes of easing him into slumber. 

“I’m sorry, I should have come back sooner…” She can’t help the way she winces when his nails dig into the soft flesh of her forearms, but she says nothing about the discomfort as she rocks him like a child. 

He hates to admit it to himself, but he likes how floaty he feels within her arms ― he hates to admit that he missed it after all these years apart.

“You’re burning up.” she tries to move him from the heater, his skin blistering and red but he merely claws his way back towards the only source of warmth in the room.

“It’s cold…”

She doesn’t push him much then, merely holds him near the small heater that emits a red glow along his skin. Freya finds herself sweating by the time he falls into a fit filled sleep, but she can’t seem to be upset. He was asleep, and that was what mattered. 

Higgs doesn’t remember falling back to sleep, he also doesn’t remember how he ended up standing in the middle of the open space of the living room with blood dripping from his fingers and furniture ripped apart. 

Glass shatters, he screams like a feral animal that was shot, he’s bleeding over the concrete floors and he’s tearing her home apart. He takes a potted plant from the kitchen island and throws it at Freya with a broken yell. 

He doesn’t remember why he feels so nauseous, he doesn’t understand why his body is shaking so terribly, why his vision is tunneling. 

He doesn’t get it;  _ he doesn’t get it _ ―  _ holy fucking shit _ ―  **_he doesn’t get it_ ** .

His stomach bubbles, his ears ring, he’s so dizzy that he can’t help but stumble like a newborn fawn walking on hot coals. He screams ― something about his body being on fire ― the dog’s savage barking has him snarling. 

Higgs feels feral; an unbridled, blood curdling rage boils in his veins. He stares at Frey; he can see the subtle fear in her eyes as she holds her dog back from attacking him. The dog’s lips curl with each bark towards him, sharp white teeth matching his own.

“Higgs, I need you to calm down.”

He can’t respond ― he doesn’t want to. He wants to hurt, to scream, to cry. His body feels so weird and heavy and he can’t seem to pinpoint why his body is doing this to him. 

He grows weak, his knees collapsing underneath the weight of his body. He can hear his blood pumping in his ears, and the dogs barking are no longer echoing in his skull. His body starts to tingle, and it starts to scorch as Frey runs to him and presses her hands to his cheeks and forehead. 

Higgs grows frustrated, one hand connects with her chest, pushing hard with a broken, garbled cry of anger as he does so but she doesn't relent. She calls him by a different name ― a name he can never use again; a name that leaves an awful taste of the past on his tongue ― but the way it rolls off her tongue allows him to melt into her touch; allows him to find the ease in her voice. He doesn’t question ― she only shows worry within her calls and soft touches. 

Freya guides him then, and everything from there is terrible. Pain pulls taut at his muscles as she lays him down, Fermi resting at his feet with an incessant whine of worry. Time blurs from there, and he knows that Freya’s trying to talk to him but he can only seem to see the laggy, bleary forms of her held in slow motion. Her mouth moves ― soft lips pulled up in a fretful smile; made just for him ― but he can seem to hear or understand what she wants from him. 

There’s a prick in his skin and all he can assume was it was another IV. Fluids, maybe some smart drugs. He didn’t know, but whatever she was giving him made him feel  _ good. _

He allows sleep to take hold, fully and without an incoherent thought or metaphysical dreams of the beach but he wakes up feeling unrested, unsettled and sore. His fingers are wrapped, he has a fresh bag of fluids attached to his arm, and he finds Freya sleeping in a chair next to his bed with her legs propped up on his bed, a book in her lap, her head resting in her hand. 

He watches the way her chest rises and falls with each soft breath; listens to the way her soft exhales whistle past her lips. Her fingers twitch in her lap, her brow furrowed deep as she dreams but even with the look of discontent he finds himself remembering ―  _ trying  _ to remember more of his times with her from before. 

He tucks his arm under his head and he watches ― the fluttering of her lashes as she dreams, the soft twitching and tapping of her fingers against her thigh, the cascade of dark hair over her shoulders. Higgs finds himself wondering as he watches her lips turn into a subtle pout and her furrowed brows.

The terminal rings ― loud and obnoxious ― and Fermi is the first to jump up before Freya follows suit. Her body jolts; he can feel the bed shift awkwardly as the heels of her feet dig into the mattress before she sits up, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. The incessant ringing causes her to groan before she walks out of the room with slumber still lacing her body.

Fermi follows after her with a soft prance in his step and his tongue hanging from his teeth. The terminal continues to ring ― the sharp tone piercing the headache that was now forming behind her eyes. Fermi’s nails clicked along the cold floor as she made her way over to the terminal with sluggish movements and furrowed brows. 

The first person she sees is Die Hardman, and she just about hung up on him the moment she saw his face. 

“I have every right to just hang up on you, you know.” he stands there, regal and tall as he leaves his hands clasped behind his back with his shoulders pushed back. “What do you want,  _ Mr. President _ ?”

“It’s good to hear from you, Freya.” His voice is washed with a calmness that only seems to irritate her further. “I was hoping you would pick up.” 

Freya could only scoff.

“I’m not interested in coming back to the UCA.” gooseflesh prickles along her nape, and she can hear the soft pattering of Higgs’ walking through the hallway but she pays him no mind as she trains her glare on the chrialgram in front of her. “Nothing you say or do will ever change my mind.”

“This isn’t about that.” Her scowl only deepened with the subtle implications of his words. “There have been reports of you helping Sam disconnect and go under the radar of the UCA.”

“You’re not getting his location.”

“He broke an executive order, and his cuffs were destroyed.” 

“Well, when you treated him like nothing but a pack mule for your little project, I don’t blame him one bit for wanting to disconnect.”

“We only want to know where he is.”

“ _ No _ .”

“Freya―,” Something inside of her snaps at the sound of her name echoing through the chiralgram. It’s forign and awkward but it boils in her belly as she scoffs.

“Why can’t you just let things be? He did what you asked and more ― so did I ― so why don't you drop it.” There's a tense silence ― heavy and hellish ― but Freya stands her ground with a glare and a snarl. “Hasn’t the UCA done enough?”

Die Hardman says nothing to her; knowing full well that he’s not going to win this fight he brought onto himself. His hands hang heavy at his side, as he slumps just ever so slightly but he doesn’t push, he doesn’t question, he doesn’t order. He can only seem to nod his head softly. 

“Freya.” There's a finality to the way he says her name before the chiralgram cuts off and leaves her in silence. Fremi nudges at her calf, sitting pretty right behind her as he waits for her attention but once she leans down to scratch behind his ear, she notices her office door slightly ajar. The light spills softly from the door; the flickering flame that she keeps on her desk now lit when she knows it was extinguished when she locked it up that morning.

She can’t find it in her to be mad about his curiosity, “Let’s go see what he’s up to, hm?”

Fermi makes his way through the ajar door and past Higgs’s legs, pressing himself into the dog bed that sits in the corner closest to Freya’s desk. Large metal filing cabinets line the rightmost wall, framed pictures along the top of them. Old photos that were frayed and torn at the edges but still pressed nicely between the glass and the backing of the frame. 

He looks upon a picture that strikes him curious ― more so than he usually is ― and he can’t help it when he reaches for the frame.

A woman ― older and larger ― with graying ginger hair and bright eyes holds Frey into her side as they stand in front of their small kitchen in the bunker that he used to deliver too. Plants covered most of their walls and hung from the ceiling; wildflowers that he’s never seen before placed on the countertop as an accent.

He remembers what Maeve was like ― strong ― willed, hard headed, and loud. She got her point across whenever and however she wanted with a thick Irish accent to emphasize her point across. She was a smart lady too ―a plant geneticist with a hefty goal ―but she was good at what she did.

There was a silence that Higgs searched for before the creak of the door signaled he was caught. A subtle flinch wracked his bones, but when he realized that it was only Freya leaning against the frame of the door, he couldn’t help but feel his body relax. 

“You shouldn’t be snooping through other people’s things.”

“Well, after I heard that the UCA was trying to contact you, I felt like I needed to do a little  _ research _ .” 

He places the frame back on the cabinet as he runs his hands over the handles of the filing drawers, but Freya couldn’t help but jolt a little as he did so. None of the drawers itself were labeled, but she could see the way his fingers twitched with curiosity. “What do you think you’re going to find?” 

“Something  _ exciting _ , hopefully.” 

She can’t help the breathy chuckle that leaves her throat as she takes tentative steps to the large desk that was pressed into the corner. Deft fingers pull at the drawers under her desk, weathered manila folders being pulled from the drawers has Higgs taking steps towards her as she leaves the folders on display. 

_ MULES Rehabilitation Experiment (MRE) ― Patients Files _

He questions it, pulling at the first folder ― the corners bent and worn and slightly torn ― and he flips through the first few pages.

A picture of a man ― pale in color and glassy eyed ― was paperclipped to the front of the folder. Next to it, were words; wild, cursive letters scribbled along the white paper. He didn’t care enough to read anymore than the name and the mental stability report that was at the bottom of the page.

_ Patient 26―04 is still showing consistent mental degradation. Oxytocin and other Smart Drugs do show improvements, but after an hour, the patient's mental stability falls to previous numbers and in some cases, falls into manic known levels. _

At the bottom, he sees a signature.

_ Freya Kardashev _

He looks at her then, confusion lacing his furrowed brows before he goes back to flipping through other files that were as similar as the last. Fingers skim over soft cursive, pages flip over one another, files were placed and replaced back onto the desk as Freya watches him nervously. He can’t seem to keep himself from flipping each and every page until he puts the last file on the desk back and reaches for the last one. 

He finds himself sitting now, leaning heavily against her desk as he looked over the unlabeled folder that was thick with papers. The pages were filled with nothing but transcripts ― crisp white paper bundled and held together by large binder clips. His eyes graze against the printed words, his fingers tugging to flip to the next page.

“The UCA has always done terrible things ― from the BB Project, to the MRE Project ― I was shocked to find out that I was merely a pawn in their scheme.” Fermi makes his way over to her as she sits down in her chair, a tired look upon her face. 

“Why join the UCA? After everything they did near Edge Knot?” Freya could only scoff at his indignation, but Higgs only glared as she let out a sardonic bark of laughter. 

“You’re really going to ask me that? After everything you did to Fragile? To me? You gave neither of us a choice.” 

“ _ That _ wasn’t meant for you, and you know that.”

“It was meant for someone, and that alone was enough.”

The silence that sits between them is thick; suffocating. Freya finds herself questioning her actions ― bringing Higgs into her home, showing him these files, keeping him a secret from everyone and leaving a target on not only her back but his. 

“I felt like I had no choice.” Her soft voice causes him to scoff with a mood to rebuttal but she only sighs. “The UCA offered me a place within their Psych Ward… and after everything it felt good. My research and theories on DOOMS and Mules Syndrome was something they were interested in, and they gave me a place to be. They gave me a purpose, or it felt like they did.”

Higgs watched the way she twiddled with her fingernails, picking at the dirt that was stuck under them before she continued.

“And then I threatened them with their mistreatment of Mules ― said I would publish my research publicly. I was going to publish all of the reports on the whole experiment because I caught them torturing and killing them under the grounds of Central Knot.” She moves some hair from her temple, showing off a pale scar that digs into her scalp, “And I got my face knocked in for my troubles.”

There’s plenty he wishes he could will himself to say; sardonic, chastising words that he can throw into her face about her leaving him. Things he could verbally slash at her skin as he scrutinizes her about her stupid choices. But even as he builds the courage of anger and rage between sharp canines, one look at her as she pinches the bridge of her nose with furrowed brows as Fermi nudged at her hand left him unsure.

She made a choice; a choice for herself.

And that alone was something he could understand.


	3. ❝ Ｓ Ｋ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ ❞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a day behind but its okay, i guess.

The cascade of snow leaves wisps of white flecks sticking to her lashes as the white out starts to rage the closer she gets to the tall peak she calls. Her makeshift porter gear clicks with every step she takes as she makes her way up the mountain away from the civilization below with her supplies. Howling winds against the hood of her suit leaves her cheeks rosy with chill but her nose runny from the harsh weather. 

It's weird to think about the amount of time since the Timefall let up to leave room for rain, but Freya’s noticed that no one goes out without their gear. Timefall suits are still a standard ― a hopeful precaution of preparation for anything this world would and could throw ― but she still finds it odd to see standard clothes whenever she travels closer to Mountain Knot. 

It’s not the suits that got her thinking about things ― it was the not so quiet conversation that some of the stock workers were mumbling about as she passed them by. 

_ “Bridges is planning on launching their first plane in three days.” _

Freya couldn’t say she was exactly confident on that measure. 

The flight was meant to go from Capital Knot to Edge Knot, dropping off supplies so they could finish rebuilding their city and the bridge over the line of tar that separates the west from everyone else. The plan would be making several stops ― Capital to Port to Lake to Mountain to South. 

It was still a prototype, it would need checking up on, consistent reports and check in’s, refueling and packing up stock for Edge Knot. But the run aline was something of significance ― a show of the new America and the advancements made post The Death Stranding. 

Again, she wasn’t confident on the matter of a plane tearing through a godless sky, but she wasn’t in charge. She had no say in the matter.

The moment she steps through the door, she is blasted with the sound of music coming from the gramophone in the corner of her small bunker; the smell of pizza that fills the entire room Higgs’ is eating in. The scratch of the vinyl leaves her wondering how long he’s been playing around with her things, and if anything is broken that he poorly tried to cover up.

To think how childish a man like him could be constantly baffled her. 

It’s been only a year, it shouldn’t surprise her at this point.

“I’m barely gone for a day, and you already ordered pizza?” she pulls off her porter gear, her shoulders singing with relief as she hangs everything up in her decontamination pod. “Didn't you order some yesterday?”

He unceremoniously shoves pizza into his mouth, “Yeah, and?” Fermi pads his way over to her, body leaning heavily against her shins before she's even able to bend down and scratch him. 

"How was your trip?" 

"It was  _ fine _ ." She finds herself unpacking the cases filled with provisions, but she knows Higgs is watching her every move. There's a tension in her shoulders as she placed cans into cabinets ― a quiet sort of activity that she never did quietly. 

"I guess Bridges is launching a plane in a few days. It'll fly right over us getting to Mountain Knot." 

The tension is still there as she shrugs and starts to finish unpacking the provisions. It takes only a moment for her to put the last few things away before Higgs finds the words that stick at the back of his throat. 

But ― Higgs finds himself quiet under the thick tension she brought with her. A sense of worry that mingles along with everything else that he can easily sense sweating from her skin. Doubt; worry; fear. It’s thick in the air but he still finds himself quiet; his tongue hot as words burn at the back of his throat, like bile against his tongue. He keeps the questions that have been bruising his skull within him. 

Freya is still… distant. A professional type of air that resides between them whenever they talk ― like she’s trying to be a therapist to him or act like a coworker. Someone without connections, someone easily forgotten. 

A whole year has passed, and they walk on eggshells around each other. 

It’s hard knowing that things can’t go back to what they were before ― after what happened in Mountain Knot all those years ago, he’s more surprised by the fact that she hasn’t slit his throat and bled him like a pig to slaughter, but there's an inkling of who he once was that yearns for something from the past. 

He continues to eat his pizza despite the lack of an appetite as Freya walks from room to room in her normal routine. She showers first ― no more than five minutes under the tepid spray ― before she wonders back in to make herself food. Freya then settles with her plate and a book from her large stacks against the wall. All of this, something of a nightly occurrence that he has observed over the months he's been allowed to stay.

She ignores Higgs; as if he was nothing but a ghost haunting her home, and in some cases, he thinks that might just be the case. 

Though, tonight feels different from all the rest. He’s not sure why or how just yet but it leaves the hairs at his nape standing at attention. An inkling of anxiety bubbles in the pit of his belly before he has a chance to think, and it's then that he loses the rest of whatever appetite he had left.

He goes to get up; his words mumbled into a simple ‘ _ goodnight _ ’ but he barely has the chance to leave ― to sleep ― as Freya calls to him. 

“I got something for you.” 

She motions to the metal case covered in bright yellow tape and a large label that sat on the kitchen counter not too far from where he stood. A simple distance like that never felt so far away before in his life. 

“Figured you’d like something familiar.” Her words held a neutral tone, but her face held something akin to worry as he took tentative steps towards the so-called  _ gift _ that she brought for him. He can barely remember the last gift he ever received, almost everything he had he earned and destroyed himself.

He cuts the yellow void tape, Freya’s eyes peering into his back as the soft clicks of the case flick open from under his thumbs. He expects a bomb, and a note of pure disdain or something along those lines but what was shown before him was the exact opposite. 

A mask ― similar to his old one ― sat carefully placed within the foam padding of the case. Gold accents with the carved teeth and the blackened details. It felt light in his hands as he held it, but heavier than his previous one. 

“It’s made from carbon fiber. Figured it would be better than what you previously had.” 

He wonders what it means as he holds it; tilting it this way and that as to check over it ― to make sure it wasn’t going to kill him or cause the same issues the original did before. 

The gesture; however unusual it may seem, isn’t something that goes over his head. It’s meant to be a reminder of who he was ― and who he should never be again. 

Higgs leaves it on his nightstand as he lays down; Fermi pressed against his calf as he tries to sleep.

.-.-.

It was driving him insane. Three days in a row, he wakes up on the beach ― his  _ old  _ beach ― the same beach he thought he was disconnected from when Sam convinced Amelie to close the curtain on this whole shit show. 

But here he was, surrounded by Sequoias and pebbled sand and a raging storm. 

And a plane? 

It tears through the sky, graying clouds leaving no sense of visibility for the hunk of metal as it descends with a missing wing and smoke and leaking gasoline. 

It's the crash along the shore line of the beach that wakes him, but he remembers the feeling of heat that radiated from the thick, rusting metal of the Bridges issued plane. 

Paranoia drives him to the brink ― three days in a row can't be normal and seeing something like that happen when a similar event was taking place doesn't help much ― but as the earth rumbles before him and a cold chill crawls up his spine, he can't help the panic that bubbles in his throat. 

He dresses then, throwing on the Timefall suit that Freya had gotten him a few months back. Drive pile complaints was what got him this suit, and drive pile complaints is what's going to get Freya out of bed. 

Higgs doesn't bother being quiet, heavy heels scuff the cold concrete floors as he walks into her room. He tries not to get too distracted by the scent of her room; the sweet smell of honeysuckle and lavender calms him but right now isn't a time for being calm. 

"Freya―," She can only groan into her pillow, her body heavy with sleep under her blanket, "Freya, we need to go." 

"Higgs,  _ go back to bed _ ."

"Something bad is gonna happen." he isn't exactly sure how to explain what he saw, and after a year of utter silence from vivid dreams of the beach, he's certain that she wouldn't take it as seriously as he needs her to. "We need to go." 

" _ Higgs― _ ," 

The earth rumbles, louder than before, leaving the room to tremble under their wake and it causes Freya to shoot up from her bed. Confusion laced with sleep is all he can get from her but she's moving so he'll take what he can get. Goosebumps rise on his skin, he can feel the tickle of anxiety in his chest as the earth continues to rumble so loud it leaves both them and the home trembling. 

"What's going on?" She tries to rub the sleep from her eyes and dress herself in the Timefall suit Higgs throws at her, but she stumbles and trips slightly while following Higgs outside her room. 

"Where's the Timefall suit for the dog?" 

"Closet ― Higgs,  _ what is going on _ ?" her zipper resounds through the room as he starts to dig around the closet for Fermi's gear. 

"I don't know, okay! I don't know! We just need to go!" 

"We can't just  _ leave _ ― this is my home!" There's a crack in her voice as he pulls out the gear for Fermi from the closet closest to the bunker door. He hates the fear that he can smell off ― it emanates from her pores and breath as she takes two steps back away from him. 

He doesn't want to leave this place either; the only really home he's had in ―  _ fuck _ ― decades. The familiarity will be missed and the warmth will be yearned for but he has her; he has Freya. 

The earth is no longer trembling under their feet ― it's shaking with anger and hatred now. An earthquake that rattles their bones and knocks over books and potted plants. 

"We can't stay here, Freya!" 

He's right ― she knows that ― but she's never been afraid of death. Her self-preservation or lack thereof has always been something she found a flaw in. 

A crack of thunder sounds and shakes the mountain that they live within as Freya watches as Higgs moves about. Fermi seems as confused as she is, but he's more compliant to Higgs' forceful words laced with anxiety. 

A man like him ― anxious over the end. 

The sound of ripping metal against rock echoes before they even manage to pass the terminal. Smoke and the smell of burning flesh mixes in with the rush of a white out. There's a hot chill that runs through them both ― goosebumps leaving their temporary marks during a permanent horror. 

The plane crashed into Mountain Knot. The stench of rot and wet earth permeates through the air.

"Run.  _ Now _ ." 

Higgs has to carry Fermi through the snow; the depth leaving them with more problems then help this time around. There's a crackling sound ― loud pops that happen in quick succession ― before Freya could even piece together what was happening. The ground shakes and roars under their heels, the stench of the dead and burning iron continues to fill their senses. The pops grow louder with each passing second; no longer small and no longer distant. 

Freya feels hot under all her gear despite the chill of the wind spreading over her neck. Higgs is a little ways in front of her, Fermi in his arms like a limp duffle as the snow came down on them harder and the popping sound resonated against the cliffside. There's a flash of white, the feeling of lead weight that pulls at her lungs as she gasps out for Higgs. 

There’s a rush that vibrates inside of her. Higgs stops and turns around, eyes wide with worry as he sees everything happen in slow motion. Specks of silver permeate in his peripheral as Freya reaches for him; her hand searing her mark on his skin before there's a flurry of silver and white and the smell of the ocean. 

For a brief moment, he caught a glimpse of a beach ― Freya’s beach ― heavy with the scent of salt water, black sands that seemed endless, tepid rapids that splashed white against their ankles. It’s bland; all black and white and gray.

As soon as he got within this beach of Freya’s, he was gone, his body rolling down the mountain and over rocks and dewy grass. Miles away, he could hear the sounds of ghostly wails, the incomprehensible pops of explosions, the crack of thunder that boomed over their heads. There's a tingle over his skin; a brief burn that soon cools before he even notices it was there. 

The sky rumbles from above him; his body splayed uncomfortably over small rocks, his lower half lay awkwardly in a small river that runs from the mountain behind them. 

He barely knows this area; his mind a daze as he tries to take in his surroundings. His body is heavy with exhaustion; the rush of adrenaline now leaving his veins as he pushes himself up. A wave of vertigo hits, and he stumbles a bit as he stands on his own two feet. 

A few feet away from him, he sees Freya ― her body limp against the crest of a rock as Fermi waits at her side like the loyal companion he is. Blood drips from her nose as he stumbles over to her side, it's only then that he notices the head injury that she procured from the harsh tumble down the mountain. Adrenaline that had coursed through his body now replaced with a sense of panic as he pulled her from the jagged formation. 

It’s only then does he realize that he’s covered in bruising and scratches ― ailments only rubbed raw from movement and his Timefall gear.

He’s left gasping for air before he even has the chance to pull Freya from the sharp throne she lays on. Every blink brings on tears as indignant thunder roars above him. The storm rages above them before it falls, the earth now soaked in tears of death. 

Plants grow and die right at his fingertips ― a phenomena he hasn’t seen in what feels like centuries, but there it was right before him. The first drops of Timefall.

He used to control things like this ― Timefall and all it’s deathly things. The density of chiralium spikes; he can feel the way it sticks to his bones as the storm covers him in a chill that leaves the mountain they came from to shame. 

He doesn’t want to think of what’s left of the bunker ― nothing but rubble and old memories lay beneath it now.

The harsh inhale of a gasp pulls him from his thoughts, and it's then that he remembers that Freya is still with him, slung over a throne of rock as the chiralium clouds over the peaks of the mountainscape above.

As he pulls her from the formation, he can’t help but look up at the sky to see the five inky figures he grew so used to, framed by the reverse rainbow that signified everything and nothing. 

The only thing he can remember as he drags Freya into a small space that was covered and safe from the Timefall was Amelie's words the last time she spoke to him. 

_ “You still have a part to play.” _

This isn’t the part he wanted.

.-.-.

She wakes to the sound of nothing. No hum of a generator; no buzz of music; no incessant chattering from Higgs as he talks to Fermi like he’s a human and not a dog. Her ears ring a small bit, and her head spins so much it leaves her nauseous, but she can only seem to catch a strange deafness in her ears. 

Her eyes are bleary; tears trapped behind lashes as she tries to blink them away, but as she gets a bearing for her surroundings she can only seem to see aggravation and anger and noise. 

There stands Sam ― the Great Legend ― in his furious glory as he stands across from what looks like Higgs, she’s not quite sure. Her ears ring more; a harbored keening sound that reminds her of a whale song ― a haunting sound that leaves a headache attached to her temples. 

The yelling picks up then; loud and incessant, as Sam pulls at Higgs’ collar.

“You did it didn’t you!” 

“For once,  _ Sammy _ , it wasn’t me.” The animosity that coursed through the cave entrance was enough to leave Freya sore. Thick in the air; the anger that Sam held within him ended with Higgs on the other side of it as his fist connected with the others jaw. 

“I remember you hitting me harder when we were on the beach,  _ Sammy boy _ .”

She wonders if she should just let Sam do what she couldn’t, but her body acts out before she has a chance to contemplate anything.

“I sometimes wonder if you  _ enjoy _ spurring others on just so it would give you a reason to hit them.” Higgs scoffs at her; incredulous before he finds himself moving to her side as she tries to sit up. “Funny thing is you ain’t so tough.”

“There’s a whole lotta  _ doubt  _ in that one, darlin’.”

Freya finds the energy to stand then; pushing her weight into the earth to find steady ground before she feels like sinking into the dirt below her. Exhaustion creeps in alongside the headache that pierces her temples before Sam speaks up.

“Mountain Knot is gone.” he’s blunt with his words ― straightforward and simple ― no need to sugarcoat what's already happened. “It was a void out.”

“I don’t understand, I thought all of that stopped when―,”

“She reopened The Beach.” 

Freya stands there; motionless, as Higgs starts to bicker about something inconsistent to the situation at hand. The beach being open would make sense to the concept of her being able to jump like she did. The black sands, the white waters, the gray skies all point to the same beach she’s loathed since she dreamt it.

Sam and Higgs bicker like children ― a constant reminder of what she’s dealt with for the last year ― but her body weighs heavy on the pretenses of what is happening within the world. Her knees buckle and before she’s able to catch herself, she’s sitting on her shins on the ground with bated breath.

“Is Lockne okay? ― Heartman?” She catches Sam’s attention from there, his eyes averted from Higgs’ childish glare. 

“They’re back at Capital Knot from what Deadman told me.” he looks out from the cave entrance, his brows furrowed in contemplation. “They called me to retrieve you. Said it was urgent.”

“The Legendary Porter, still doing the UCA’s dirty work.” Higgs couldn’t help the sardonic sneer; a wave of enmity radiating from his body. 

“ _ Higgs _ ―,” She snaps at him, her body shaky from the overexertion, but Freya finds herself standing nonetheless. The storm rages against the cave entrance; Timefall giving life only to take away a split second later. 

“We’ll leave in the morning.” Sam calls out before he settles against the cave wall to rest; his shoulder taut and sore from the gear he carries.

Freya notices the way Higgs’ hand hovers over the small of her back ― a guiding hand that wants to connect ― but she simply moves away from him and sits in the darkest corner of the cave. 

She just has to wait for morning to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ngl, I have a lot of doubts for this story ― writing Higgs is difficult and trying to still hold him accountable for what he did (bc he still did terrible things) while also showing a different side of what he was before Amelie and what he can be after her is just so... weird


End file.
